Riches to Rags
by stillgoldie1899
Summary: Before he was the King of Brooklyn, before he was the muscle behind the Newsboys Union strike, before he became legend, there was a young boy, and his sister, running from what most people would have seen as a perfect life. Looks, however, are deceiving. (A re-imagining of one of my very old co-written fanfics, Timmy, with a few new twists of my own.)


She shouldn't have been there, at the keyhole, spying on her father, but he'd all but dragged her brother from his room, next to hers, and hauled him off to his study, well after dinner, and she had to know what it was about. She could hear the raised voices before she even made it down the carpeted hallway, and by the time she'd knelt at the door to peer through the keyhole, Timmy was bellowing back at Father, who was red-faced, and clearly furious. She caught words here and there, school, England, your mother, your attitude, grow up. Timmy had been worried for days that Father was planning on shipping him off to boarding school in England, and it seemed he'd been right about it.

She was distracted by that thought when Father finally snapped, reaching for the first thing that came to hand, his cane, and striking his son across the face with it, sending him flying, as it happened, into the door she was spying through. As Timmy hit the wood with a sickening thud, she squeaked, and pulled back so suddenly that she tripped, landing on her rump with a loud gasp. Terrified her father might have heard her through the door, she took off like a racehorse, bolting for her room, and ever-so-carefully closing it behind her, so as not to trigger any additional alarm. Then, with a sigh, she leaned back against it, sliding to the floor.

"Was he telling Timmy about sending him away to England?" Her twin sister, Catherine, was sitting in her bed, already in her nightgown, already ready for bed, neatly tucked in, and perfect, as always, and she made a face at her.

"Yes. He hit him, with his cane, when Timmy yelled at him. I think he might have heard me at the door as well." She made a face, and moved to stand when the door pushed in on her from the outside, the carpet having muffled the sound of her father's footsteps.

"Amanda Marie Douglass!" The roar was like that of a lion, and terrified, she scrambled out of the path of the door, her eyes wide as her father burst into the room, surging towards her like a storm. "Skulking around in the dark of the night in my house is not allowed, young lady! I think it's beyond time for you, and that brat of a brother of yours to learn some manners!"

His hand snapped out, and expecting him to strike her across the face, she ducked, cheek pressed against her shoulder. But he wasn't reaching to strike her. His fingers grabbed a hold of her ear, and used it to pull her to her feet, dragging her after him, slamming the door to her room shut behind him.

Down the hall, and around the corner, Father nearly kicked the door to her mother's room open, sending a small bit of dust swirling. The room had been unoccupied since the spring, when her mother had caught ill on a trip to Italy, and had not made it back home. It was dark, and frightening, and she hadn't gone into the room, for fear of her mother's ghost, since her father had first come home, and locked it up.

He continued to drag her now, however, into the room, stopping in front of the wardrobe, once filled with Nancy Douglass's gowns, quickly unlocking the door, and tugging it open. She had known the dresses were long since packed up and put away, but she wasn't expecting to see Timmy, already sitting on floor, crammed into a corner, rubbing at tears, his cheek already starting to swell, and turn purple. Father pushed her until she stumbled into the wardrobe as well, and scowled down at his children.

"Lets see how a night in here changes your moods." She could smell the brandy on him, could see the haze of it in his eyes, and she was suddenly terrified that he'd forget they were locked in there in the morning, when he woke hungover, and no one would ever find them there, and they'd die. He must have seen the terror on her face, because the corners of his lips twitched slightly, up into a smirk, as he slammed the door shut.

She sank until she was sitting as the only source of light, the keyhole, was cut off by a key, quickly turned, the click of the lock so loud in the dusty silence, and then the pinprick of light returned. She could hear her father's feet stomping back to the door, and it opened, slammed shut, and another lock clicked shut before the footsteps, now muffled by carpet, faded away.

Casting a terrified look at her brother, although she doubted he could see her, she blindly reached for him, finding the leg of his pants and clinging to it. "Timmy...? He's going to forget us in here, isn't he." It wasn't a question, so much as a statement, one made in fear.

"Don't matter." Timmy's voice had a hard cast to it, one she was unfamiliar with, and for some reason, it made her more nervous, rather than less. "We're getting out of here."

"The door's locked, Timmy. What are you going to do? Kick it down?" She made a face she was sure he couldn't see, safe in doing so because of that.

"Pick it." He moved, and was abruptly blocking the light from the keyhole as she frowned at the vague form he was starting to make as her eyes adjusted to the dark.

"When did you learn how to pick locks?" This was a side of her brother she would have found useful weeks ago, when their tutor hid all the candy in a locked box in the library.

"Learned it from a newsie. I'm friends with a bunch of them. Where did you think I went when I ran off on our afternoon walks?" Timmy had a habit of running off when their tutor took the three of them for walks, and she'd never managed to run fast enough to not get caught herself. Mr. Welks was so terrified of losing his job, and Timmy was always home before father, so he'd never turned him in. Timmy's newfound skill set suddenly made a lot more sense.

"Alright, so you can pick locks. Can you get us someplace safe before father murders the both of us?" She wished, desperately, that she was kidding, but there was nothing funny about it.

"Yeah, these newsies, they all live in a lodging house. Father will never think to look there for us. I can get this door open, and then we can get out the window. Won't be easy, but I thought I might have to run tonight, after dinner, so I managed to pocket all the pocket money I've been saving up for the last few months. I even know where we can get some clothes, so we'll be less conspicuous. I just wish we didn't have to leave Cat..." Timmy's voice trailed off as she heard the lock clicking open, and he pushed the door open. Moonlight was flooding their mother's room, and her full windows, complete with balcony, beckoned them.

"Cat's fine. She's Father's favorite, prissy, perfect little pet." She had to admit, she'd gotten into a tiff with her sister earlier that day that she still hadn't forgiven Cat for, and it was making her a little more catty than she needed to be. But there was truth to it. Out of the three of them, Catherine was the only one Father had never struck or yelled at, clearly his favorite, the only one that looked like him, and not their late mother.

"And we can't get to her, anyway. Maybe we can come back for her later. But you and I have to go, in case he sobers up enough to realize what he's done." Timmy's face was a bit grim as he made his way to the window, carefully opening the glass doors and studying the balcony. "We can get down over here. Land on that bush. Won't be soft, but it will break our fall. You ready, Mandy?"

She was in no way ready to leap to her death, but she flashed a brave smile at her brother and nodded. He helped her climb over the railing, instructing her on scrambling down a bit, clinging to the railings, dangling over the bush in question before forcing herself to let go. She hit the bush harder than Timmy probably imagined she would, wincing, and nearly biting through her lower lip to keep from crying out. It took her a long moment to even move again, to get out of the way so her brother could repeat the process, faster than she had done it.

Once he'd gotten to his feet as well, he grabbed her hand, and they took off, running. She had no idea where they were going, but he seemed to, and at one point, he left her standing outside a building while he monkeyed his way up a fire escape, disappearing over the roof. He emerged a moment later with a bundle that he carried down before dropping it to her, and then resumed running.

They only seemed to really stop when she finally saw a sign above a door, Newsboys Lodging House. It was run down, and chipped, faded like the building was, but Timmy, for some reason, was grinning, a bit like a fool. "I guess we're home."


End file.
